For the Team!
by ringscoastthesea
Summary: A collection of shameless xreader oneshots detailing the domestic lives of you and the members of the Iwatobi Swim Club, as well as others. Rated M for sexual angst and language, as well as some pretty awkward and unconventional kinks. Probably going to be one of those "love it or hate it" deals.


_[This is essentially filler, so I won't honestly take these as serious as I would a legitimate story. Just to get this out of the way, all of the chapters will be rated M to be safe within the guidelines, but they won't contain explicitly sexual content (unless I decide to change that in the future.) That being said, I definitely think there's some non-conventional dorky angst-stuff in here, especially this chapter. Starting off too strong, you think? Huehuehue too late now. I've debated uploading this embarrassing junk like twenty-something times and I'm not quite happy with how this story turned out, I think it's a combination of my poor dialogue skills and inability to write modest angst. Regardless, if this chapter isn't your cup of tea, chances are the rest of them won't be either. Lastly, I'm still working on my current story, I've got more of these oneshots on the way, and I'm working on stories for other fandoms. Reviews are appreciated, but enough with my monologue, go read about submissive Makoto's sensitive nipples (not sorry _ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ_)]__  
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Four o'clock. Not half an hour after you'd come home from the market with groceries that your mother had requested. On the desk in your humid bedroom, you rest your head on the cool veneer with a pen in your hand, finishing up this weekend's schoolwork. A breeze that smells like fried food and changing leaves ruffles your hair as you watch the numbers on your digital clock turn over on the hour.

Carefully, you begin scribbling down an answer onto your biology booklet before your mother calls from down the stairs in the kitchen. You don't catch it all, just bits and pieces, but as soon as you hear his name, you sit straight and your eyes perk up; Makoto's here.

Drawers fly open to find something to cover your simple and revealing camisole with something a little warmer. An oversized t-shirt that is quite cozy and some slip-ons, a quick glance in the mirror, and you're shuffling down the stairs.

"Ready to go?"

Makoto stands in the foyer of your home and gives you a once-over as you step out of your bedroom and into the hall. You smile at the tall boy and make your way over to where he is waiting, not even perplexed by the question. You loved being out and about together, this breathtaking seaside town promotes nothing less.

"Where to today?"

"A quick errand. I've missed you the past few days, I'd like to have you along, maybe?"

"Mm-hmm, sounds like fun," you confirm, winding your arms around his middle and looking up at him and his puppy-dog eyes. He smirks and ruffles your hair, then leans down to press a welcome kiss onto your lips. As he pulls away, Makoto frowns slightly and tugs at the short sleeve of your t-shirt.

"Is this mine?"

Looking down, the front sports a vaguely familiar pattern. Your nose presses into the material of his button-down to hide your face.

"Maybe."

The word is muffled by the fabric and the rumble of a noise of discontent swells in Makoto's chest. The boy stares down at you with a playfully critical look, which you peek out at from the apexes of your eyes like a very guilty small child might.

"You know," he begins, "if you keep stealing my clothes, I'll have to start walking around in only my jammers."

You hum and grip his waist tighter. "No complaints here," you say teasingly. Makoto tsks at that, and you release him to stand at arm's length. "Plus, I never 'stole' anything; You left it here the last time you came from swim practice."

"You told me you were going to wash it!"

"I did," you purr. Suddenly, you find a hand around your wrist and Makoto is pulling you to the front door.

"You're coming with me, and we're going clothes shopping," he states, and the look of determination on his face leaves little room for dispute. "Really? Isn't it usually the girl who drags their significant other on fashion trips?"

Makoto doesn't answer directly, he only pauses as you're both halfway out the door to shout behind him "Mrs. [l/n]! We're going to the mall and I promise I'll bring her back by eight!"

A quick confirmation from your mother later, and you're tripping over your shoes as you stumble down the steps and onto the path that leads to the train stop.

As you regain your bearings and begin to walk in stride with your boyfriend, a comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You're not one to be quiet just for the sake of it, but it's almost uplifting to know that you can share such a relationship with someone. You don't need to fill in the white noise because it's never felt awkward or overwhelming. It's plausible to think that this is what it's always been like between Makoto and Haru, and speaking of whom, you wonder vaguely and fleetingly where the aquaphile is soaking himself right now.

After a while, you knock your shoulder against the brunet's arm anyway and look up at him. "So are you really gonna drag me to the store and make me buy you another shirt?"

"What? No, no, nothing like that."

"Y'sure? Because I have money."

Makoto laughs lightheartedly and drapes his arm along your waist, to which you respond by interlacing your fingers together and resting them on the rise of your hip. The crunching of fallen autumn leaves resounds with every footfall and you realize just how much time has passed since you met Makoto on that warm spring day.

As you turn the corner and round into the station where the four-thirty train will pass, it becomes apparent that the place is uncharacteristically uncrowded for the middle of the day. You are automatically led to a vacant bench by his guidance and the two of you sit down side by side. Makoto leans forward so that his legs splay a bit and his elbows rest on his knees as he looks over, almost apologetically, to you.

"To be honest, I need your help today," he says.

Leaning against the back of the bench you arch an eyebrow. "Oh?" Your curiosity piques and Makoto nods in affirmation.

"I need help with swimsuit shopping."

You are quiet for only a moment before a venomless giggle bubbles up in your throat. You hope that the boy won't be offended, but it was an odd favor to be asked of and it was, to be honest, quite cute.

"It really is opposite day today," you tease and Makoto looks away with a bashful smile.

"Get it out of your system," he says, going red at the ears. "I would have gone with the team, but Nagisa and Rei had plans and Haru's sick. Which reminds me, we need to stop by and visit him to make sure he's not passed out in his bathtub from fever."

So that's where Haru is. You make a sound of agreement and lean over to place a peck on Makoto's cheek, just below his eye. The blush seems to spread and you settle your chin comfortably on his shoulder.

"You're a good friend."

Makoto flounders, but manages to smile down at the ground in a painfully cliché moment that is topped off by the train arriving almost immediately after.

—

"I think this one fits too tight."

You struggle to find the right words to describe precisely /how/ tight it is as the boy steps out of the changing stall in a swimsuit, the material stretched almost impossibly taut. Makoto twists and turns to try and get a glimpse of what his body must look like in such a thing and you almost feel guilty for eyeing the muscled prominence of his ass as he does.

"How did you even manage to get that on?"

Makoto looks down and grimaces. This is the fourth suit he's tried on and certainly not the first one to fit improperly. He hooks a thumb into the waistband and lets the garment snap back, ignoring your rhetorical question as he shuffles right back into the stall.

"Hand me the next one," he requests.

"The black one or the green one?"

"Green."

You comply, standing on tiptoes to hold the emerald green-lined suit over the door of the changing room. Makoto takes it and hands you the too-tight jammer in exchange, which you toss to land on it's respective hanger.

The sound of stretching and snapping elastic echoes against the mall's beige changing room walls. You deflate onto the pleather stool and listen with closed eyes for a moment before peeking beneath the stall door. Makoto's feet are currently ensnared by the legskin jammer and he works to shimmy it up his legs.

"Why the sudden need for suits?" You ask as casually as you would if you weren't secretly partaking in the pleasures of voyeurism. Makoto hums and slips the lower part of the new suit off the heel of his foot and around his ankles.

"Like Haru says, you can never have enough swimsuits," he says fondly. "Plus, I think most of my other pairs shrank in the wash."

"Again?"

"Again."

Makoto sighs and steps out for inspection. His calves and thighs are cloaked in jet black with lime streaks traversing the sides and hips in a palatable contrast. It looks pretty much like the ones he always seems to wear, but this one has a lot more green.

"It suits you," you commend as he turns around in the mirror. He picks at the waistline incredulously before turning to you.

"It's the same as nearly everything else I have."

You shake your head. "That's what I thought, but there's way more green."

He frowns in the mirror and his eyes scrunch up. "What if the reason my jammers keep shrinking is because of the brand or the style?"

The question was wondered aloud more to himself than anyone, but you pipe up anyway.

"Or maybe it's because you can't seem to stop growing. Your pituitary must be supercharged or something."

"Don't say that!" Makoto whirls around and clenches his fists. "I'm a perfectly normal height for a teenage boy!"

"You're the tallest in the junior class."

"I'm only six feet!"

"Six one now, remember? You got measured a month ago."

A whine like that of a wounded animal emits from his throat as he buries his head in his hands. You upright yourself and, with a bit of a bruised conscience, rub his back consolingly.

"Sorry, Mako. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's not your fault," he says. The tall teen hasn't looked up and his voice is a muffled buzz from behind his hands. "It's got to be either the suits or me."

You nod, recognizing that he can't even see it. With his back turned, you realize his upper body is dotted with freckles from the summer season that have faded from gentler autumn sunlight. Impulsively, you graze a kiss on the crest of his right shoulder blade and rub the vertebrae of his spine.

"When's the last time I gave you a relaxing massage?" You query, beginning to caress and knead his back.

"Mmmmmnever," he drawls, lifting his head and arching into you, seeming to forget his distress. You owe him an apology for the shirt and your remark about his height, and some of the best apologies are the physical kind.

Methodically, warm and feminine hands work on sinewy muscle and bone, thumbs and palms doing extra to soothe them. Makoto sighs dreamily as you scratch his sides gently as an added bonus.

"Wow, Mako, you're so tense." You hone in on the spots between his shoulders where knots of tissue press back against your prodding touch. "Everything okay lately? Have you been pushing yourself too hard during practice?"

He groans in response.

"Of course you have," you say in dismay.

Makoto feels the delicious pressure alleviate as you leave to pick up the discarded clothes and your own stuff. Turning around, you are greeted by confused, verdant eyes and disappointed pout. You enter the stall he'd been using and toss his shirt at him from over the stall wall.

"Let's go," you chirp, "we'll buy you that legskin and I can come over and work out your back for a while."

Makoto blushes profusely. He stammers for a few seconds before deciding that putting on his shirt is easier than arguing and begins the immense effort of peeling off a suit when he notices that he's in the middle of the floor, the open doorway right next to him.

"Public indecency!" You quip, teasing him as his olive hair catches in the wind created by his breakneck sprint into the closure of a changing compartment.

—

"Mmmmmm-ah! Oohhhhh, my God-right there... Don't stop, keep-ahn, keep doing it there..."

"Your parents are going to hate me."

An elbow presses and manipulates the flesh over Makoto's scapula and the flustered teen groans loudly in blissful agony. You reposition yourself on the backside that is your seat (something Makoto had objected to vehemently) and sit lower on his body. He sighs and you switch to softly ghosting your fingers over his skin for a spell, contrasting between the strength and firmness before.

"I already told my mom you were gonna help me with some massage therapy," he mumbles into his pillow.

As if on cue, a few timid knocks come from the bedroom door. With Makoto's welcome, his mother, cautious yet newly relieved, pops her head into the room. She surveys the scene, suspires, and completely enters. Clothing is stacked in a laundry basket that is stacked on her arms and you can faintly hear the sounds of Makoto's twin siblings roughhousing behind her.

"Hello, you two!"

You both smile genuinely and greet her. For the moment, your hands pause their ministrations on the small of her son's back, a polite gesture. She hums and closes the door behind her with a brisk movement of her foot.

"Makoto, dear, I brought you some clothing that I did in the wash today," she smiles. You always liked Makoto's mom. She reminded you of a bunny, always so cute and cheerful.

"Thanks, mom. I'm sorry I've been neglecting the laundry lately."

"Oh, it's no problem! I just tossed these in with some of Ren and Ran's things. Your clothes are so easy to tell apart from theirs."

A girlish giggles escapes the woman's lips and Makoto is about to say something until it's cut short by a rather startling moan as you casually pick up where you left off with sturdy force on the brunet's lower back below you.

In an instant, you jolt your arms up to your chest as if burned; Makoto's mother looks up from where she'd begun putting away a navy blue sweater into a dresser drawer. Silence as thick as molasses settles for several seconds as you make eye contact.

"She has skill with her hands like you wouldn't /believe/."

You make a strangled noise, staining bright red. "M-Makoto..." you rasp, glancing apologetically towards his mother. "Don't just leave it like that!"

A sharp laughs cuts the air like a sword, and you jump an inch. A hand on your shoulder makes you jump two, which only makes its owner laugh harder.

"Don't worry about it. I know my son frets so much over the rest of us and his friends that he forgets to keep himself well, you're only doing your job to keep him from falling under the weight of everything."

She wags a finger in a comically serious manner, making herself laugh.

"Just teasing," she peeps. "But it's easy to understand that you two are of age and very enamored, and it's good to see Makoto with such a nice, caring young lady. I bet you two are /very/ close."

She pointedly looks over your midsection, over your way-too-big-to-really-be-yours t-shirt. You flush, expression like that of a deer caught in the headlights. A stutter falls from your mouth, trying hopelessly to convey that _no no no, you've got it all twisted, we haven't even seen each other naked yet, well, except for the one time that-_

"Makoto, I think I'll leave the rest of this for you to put away." She gestures to the quarter-empty basket of laundry, then leans to whisper conspiringly at you. "Him being a backstroker, he'll need all the relaxation time he can get out of you." Both you and he blush, but Makoto nods hesitatingly and reaches his arm out to her, which she pats lovingly before swaying out the door.

"Oh," she exclaims, checking back in. "Almost forgot to remind Makoto that I hung your new suit behind the bathroom door, and to remind the both of you to be mindful and safe this evening!"

"EHHH?!"

"Mom!"

Cocking her head and plastering on the cheekiest smile you've ever seen, she disappears with a click of the door jamb settling.

You look down to see Makoto peeking over his shoulder at a painful angle. His eyes say both "sorry" and "I'm so embarrassed I could die" and you can't help but share the sentiments. Gingerly, he lifts himself up onto his side and you stumble off of him, onto the other half of his twin bed. His shirtless torso is imprinted with pink waves and lines from lying on the rippled sheets beneath him, and you stare before he draws your regard back up.

"My eyes are up here, you know."

You pout and turn away, opting out of making a snappy retaliation as per the norm. Makoto sighs and rubs his cheeks, but the red dusting them seems to be quite comfortable where it is.

"I'm sorry, [y/n]. She's just teasing, but she can be pretty over the top. She knows we haven't done anything."

"I guess," you whisper. You look up at Makoto, your near-and-dear boyfriend, and lean in for a deep kiss, the kind that sends electricity up your spine and into your skull. He uses the arm that isn't supporting him to hook under you and sift his fingers through your soft, soft hair.

Your own fingers get to work on his stomach, tracing faint indentations and shivering flesh. Passion leaks into the kiss as you brush a nipple with the pad of your thumb and Makoto gasps sharply, breaking off.

"H-hey, that's..."

You press him onto his back. He gazes up, almost offended but more curious than anything, as you resume your teasing.

"I'm not done with my massage, Mako."

The face below you darkens a shade and he noticeably flusters when he realizes that his nipples are hard and pebbled against your touch. You roll them between two fingers on each hand and the brunet's breathing hitches before he grabs your wrists and stalls any further contact. You stare each other down, your eyes half-mast and hazy, his ever-embarrassed and nervous.

"You don't like it when I touch you like this?"

"I'm not a girl..."

"Who said you had to be?"

Moments pass in shallow, loaded breaths. He frowns, but releases your hands and you smile and reward his bravery in exploring uncharted territory with a kiss, slow and measured. The entire room feels warm, comfortable, and you relax further into Makoto and the languorous movements of his tongue.

Without warning, you slip away and duck down to hover over his chest. Hot exhalations on his skin cause goosebumps to flourish, and Makoto watches with not-so-undue interest in his eyes and prays that the beating of his heart is not as loud as he thinks it is.

An experimental peck lands on his breastbone. You hold it there, lift up, and place another one in the same spot. Taking all the time in the world, you scatter tender butterfly kisses across his chest. Makoto observes, feeling blood rush to the site of every press of your mouth on his body. You don't let up until you come to your intended destination.

Your lips brush his nipple and he places his hands on your shoulders, leaving them there for leverage against the sensation. His reddened lips part and he bites them, the lower snared between teeth, and you feel your body temperature spike when he keens quietly, prompted by your newly-swirling tongue. You kiss the small bud again, making a lewd, wet sound that excites the surrounding air. The other of the pair receives the same treatment before you shift down, listening to the restless groan as you recommence a trail of affection down his midriff. Every prominent muscle and indent receives a kiss and then some.

Eventually, unfortunately, you reach the hemline of his pants. Kissing both hipbones once more, you rise and look at the brunet, conflicted.

"Mako..."

He sits up abruptly and wraps his broad embrace around you, molding his mouth to yours feverishly. You hum into the contact and decide, with a great amount of grievance, that it is in everyone's best interest to do what you are about to do.

You pull away, inhale deep, and press two fingers between you and the eager teen you're perched upon. His lips are impeded, and he opens his eyes just enough to find yours.

"[y/n]?"

"Makoto."

He looks at you, nonplussed and undeniably aroused.

"I think..." Try as you might, you can't keep the disappointment from seeping into your voice. "We should stop."

He blinks before processing everything. Then, he smiles the trademark smile that assuages any doubts you might've had about this choice and enfolds you in a hug.

"I suppose you're right," he agrees, speaking lowly in the shell of your ear. "Wouldn't want to validate my mom's ridiculous assumptions."

You chuckle, kissing the crook of his neck sweetly. He lies down again with you in tow, adjusting your bodies so that he curls around your frame with his own. You sigh into the dissipating heat of the atmosphere and tenderly purse your lips onto his fingers that begin to pet and soothe your cheek. Outside, it's becoming alarmingly late.

"Can I sleep over?"

"Of course."

You'll have to deal with your overbearing mother in a bit, but with the way your body feels, yearning and warm and all somehow content, you couldn't stand to leave your spot. Even in Makoto's too-small bed.

"I'm sorry that I got us worked up all for nothing," you lament, turning slightly to catch his silhouette from the corner of your eye. He's still so heated, you can feel him radiating from behind you. His heartrate sets a tempo that reverberates into your own chest.

"It's... It's okay. Really, I understand."

The boy was always quick to comfort, and he was good at it, but you knew that tone. A great deal of frustration hides behind it, the same kind that you felt late at night when he wasn't next to you and your heart sang for him.

"Mako?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

A few seconds pause, and Makoto furls two sturdy arms around your middle and squeezes, closing off any and all distance snugly, like two perfect-fit puzzle pieces. His burning face nuzzles the nape of your neck and you're reminded of this morning and how you got into this wonderful mess. A mental note is made to slip his pilfered shirt under the pillows tomorrow before you leave the comfort of his sheets. You smile.

"I love you, too, [y/n]..."

His hips twitch ever so minutely and you are suddenly painfully aware of the slight pressure at your back. It makes you want to squirm, to keep going together until you've gone all the way. But patience, you recite, is a virtue, no matter how aggravating. Someday, you'll manage to find a time and a place and you'll fully express just how much you love Makoto Tachibana, and enjoy every aching second of it. Until then, you inch some distance between your hips and laugh when he nearly plummets off the bed from embarrassment.

On the brink of sleep, you bluntly realize that you'd forgotten something. Feeling uneasy, you nudge the half-conscious teen behind you and persist until he murmurs a drowsy "what?"

"We forgot to check on Haru."

Silence.

"... Oh, my God."

A solemn agreement is reached to check on the ill swimmer first thing tomorrow and the alarm is set for five in the morning on a Sunday. With Makoto's guilt palliated, you fall back under the insistence of drowsiness. The weight of today feels as though it rests fully on your eyelids, and you allow yourself to indulge in the feel of deep breaths shuddering across your neck as your eyes slip closed. Makoto's all-encasing fingers laced around yours is the last thing you see before you both succumb to the undercurrent of sleep's tides, hand in hand.


End file.
